Nothing Places, Cellophane Sounds
by sunshinesyndrome
Summary: All he wants is to have her back, but maybe that will change.    *rated for language and possible scenes down the road.
1. Chapter One: Weak & Powerless

**And here's that Gob one I wanted to write. I took what we know about Gob - the fact that he lived in Underworld, that he was captured by slavers, that Moriarty is a massive dick and says he can repay the debt... And I ran with it. Changed some tiny, tiny things that could be considered canon, but didn't really elaborate, because I suspect that this will end up being multi-chaptered, just like _Thankless Job._ I tried to keep him sort of timid and, well... Gob, but give him a bit more depth, and I sincerely hope I've accomplished that, because, well... It absolutely broke my heart to write parts of this, and I hope that means I did it well.  
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**If you'd like to see more of this story, please leave a review, because otherwise, I will not add to it - just because I _suspect_ it will be multi-chaptered does not mean that I will make it so with absolutely no feedback. For now, this will be listed as 'complete'.**

**_This will be continued, folks! It'll be a while before I ever get chapters up - see the most recent chapter of Thankless Job for the reason. I do have the beginnings of another chapter for both of them, so it may be sooner than expected.  
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><p><em>Maybe I should cry for help<br>Maybe I should kill myself_

_William Reynolds. _He's always had a family, and he's always been sweet. When he was a child, he didn't have the heart to turn a single person or thing away, no matter what. It resulted in a rather large group of strays being taken into his home, despite parental protests: eight dogs and six cats from the time he is eight to the time he turns sixteen. Sixteen's the year he starts paying attention, real attention, to women, and he figures an insane amount of pets in his home will make him seem less like he's sensitive and more like he's crazy, because he doesn't have many friends, but tons of pets. It's a year before he manages to rope himself a girlfriend; A sweet little redhead with more brains than looks. He's with her for a year and a half, two awkward teenagers unsure of love is, but who use the word often. They're both too nervous to ever go farther than kissing and a bit of awkward, over-the-clothes groping. They only break things off because she's moving from where they are, in California, pre-NCR, all the way to New Orleans, Louisiana. They promise to keep in touch. They don't, though it's not for lack of trying on his part.

He's barely finishes high school - pulls through by the skin of his teeth. He's smart, but he doesn't apply himself; His work ethic's pretty shoddy. After a few good words put in by his father, he manages to land a job at the local garage by the time he turns nineteen. Working with cars and bikes and shit like that, it's something he's good at, but not something he enjoys - he'd prefer to be doing something he enjoys, like writing or drawing, but he's not particularly good at either of those things. At least being a mechanic will provide him with a steady job until his hands start shaking or his vision goes, and that's more than most people can say about their career choice. The garage isn't a big business - just a little family-owned place - and it doesn't have a lot of employees, but it gets a lot of business, and with nothing to spend his money on since he still lives at home, he saves up money at an alarming rate. He works there all of two years before he manages to save up enough cash to afford his own apartment _and _a car, not that he has to use the car often. The garage is only a block away, and it's generally pretty warm in southern California; He only ever has to use the car for grocery shopping and the occasional date.

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><p>He's technically twenty-four by the time he loses his virginity, all fumbling hands and shaky kisses. It's some nameless blonde from the nearest bar, and he really hadn't been planning on this, but he was drunk, so drunk and she was pretty and kind and she kept saying she wanted him. All the alcohol in his system, it didn't take much convincing - she probably could have pushed him up against the bar and blown him and he wouldn't have even registered that they were in public. When he wakes up at four in the afternoon, he's a little bit disappointed she's gone, because it's his birthday and he doesn't want to be lonely, and honestly, he'd probably cry if the pillow beside him didn't smell like her perfume, some raspberry-vanilla <em>something<em>. Unsurprisingly, after that, it takes him six months to convince himself to on a single date, more than a little bit crushed that his first time, he'd woken up alone. At twenty-five, he has his first steady girlfriend in six and a half years, and she's nothing like the last one. She's tall and slim and _beautiful_, all legs, brunette - and appearances are deceiving, because she's quite intelligent and she swears like a sailor. He likes that.

He also likes that she stands up for him, even though he thinks it should be the other way around. But he's too timid, and too kind, and he just can't bring himself to say something that may hurt someone else, further proof that they're incredibly different. Sometimes, she calls him 'Gob' or 'Gobtholomew'; She says it's ironic because he's one of the quietest people she knows, and 'Gob' just sounds like a nickname for someone who doesn't know when to stop talking. Like her. God, did he ever love her. Loved the way her bright green eyes lit up when she saw him, or when he got her a present, 'just because'; Loved the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed or smiled. He knows she has a temper, a foul one - he's watched her berate people for asking why she's with someone so introverted, seen her throw a mean right hook if someone speaks ill of him or her family or anything. But he loves her, flaws and all, and she feels the same. They've been together for four years when he proposes; Diamond set in white gold, simple, simple ring. And the woman _cries_, she actually cries as she says yes and embraces him in a crowded restaurant. And all he can do is shout, "I love Fiona Nash!" They marry that fall, and he spends so much time just calling her Missus Reynolds because he loves hearing it.

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><p>Three days past his thirty-second birthday, the bombs fall. The whole city is in complete disrepair, scattered corpses with burned flesh and scorch-marks on the pavement. He's mostly safe because he was downstairs at the garage, getting more motor oil; He's got a gash on his arm, and he thinks he might have a couple of broken ribs, but he's fine otherwise. A knot of horror deep in the pit of his stomach, he runs home, fast as he can, and a strangled sob tears from his throat when he sees the state of the apartment building. Fiona had stayed home that day and - <em>Oh god. <em>He digs through rubble for forty-five minutes before he finds her, and he just wants to lay down and die when he does. God, she's still alive, but there's burns covering the whole right side of her body and her right arm is sticking out at an odd angle and she's whimpering in pain. When he finally managed to move her, he nearly drops her - there's a large shard of glass sticking out from between her third and fourth ribs just left of her spine, and it's probably punctured a lung, maybe grazed her heart. "Will. Will, baby." It all but breaks his heart to hear her speak - her voice comes out nothing but a wheezy whisper and he knows she's fading fast. "I love you so much, Will. I always will. Promise me you won't dwell, okay?"

He wants to argue, tell her she'll be fine and she'll survive and they'll be _happy_, so happy. "I love you, too. I love you, you can't leave me. Can't leave me alone. Please, no, I love you." The longer he sits here, the more he can feel the radiation permeate his skin, but he can't tell if it's that or the situation making him feel sick to his stomach.

"Hush, hush, Gob. You know I'm not going to ma-ake it. Ju-hust hold m-me."

It's not long before she passes - ten minutes, maybe - and all he can do is sit there and cry, and murmur "No, don't leave me, don't leave me, I love you. Love you so much, need you, please, no." For a few minutes, his just stays there, sobs interspersed with deep, heaving breaths, before he stares up at the sky. "Why? Why her? She's all I got!" He pauses, frowns, the tears start again. "All I _had_."

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><p>It takes him two weeks to go anywhere. He just keeps going back to his old, ruined apartment building like it's going to change something. The last time he visits, he manages to pry her wedding ring from her finger and thread it onto an old chain and drop it around his neck. Because he's been wearing the same clothes for two damn weeks, he finds the nearest store that's still in tact and breaks in and gets everything he can - a duffel bag that he stuffs with as much food and clothing that he can fit in it, and changes in the middle of the store before running out. He doesn't know where he's headed, all he knows is that he's painfully alone and still grieving, and that his ribs have probably healed in odd ways. He walks for a week, sleeping when he needs it, eating as little as possible, when he's done, he's just reached the border of Utah.<p>

When he's done walking, he's managed to reach Ohio, and it's been at least a month and a half. Still alone, still mourning but no longer crying, he sets up camp in an abandoned house and manages to jerry-rig the shower, and _good lord_, is it ever great to be clean again. He curls up on the bed, in the bedroom just off the bathroom, and sleeps and sleeps and sleeps. It's two in the morning when he wakes, according to his wristwatch, and his stomach is growling rather loudly. He digs a can of Cram from his duffel bag and pries it open, pulling out hunks and practically inhaling them without cooking any of it. He doesn't even care that it tastes less than stellar - it's sustenance, and that's what matters.

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><p>Nine years later, as he moves through Virginia, he runs into two women - Carol and Greta - with skin peeling and thick red muscle visible in some places. Carol immediately treats him as a son, but it's obvious that Greta isn't fond of him; She doesn't bother to hide her irritation at his questions about their condition. Carol is calm, explains that it's because of the radiation, says they're turning into something called ghouls - and that he is too, if the massive patch of visible muscle tissue on his neck is an indicator. He grimaces, slaps a hand over the patch in question. Well, that explains <em>that<em>, then.

They stay in Virginia for a couple of years, and by the time they start heading for the National Museum of National History, for Underworld, Carol's skin is mostly gone and Greta looks pretty much the same. Gob, he figures he's pretty lucky, because even though his own most ravaged portion is his face, he's still got plenty of skin for the time being. That probably won't last long, everything irradiated all to shit like it is - his skin will probably be flaking off like he has a fucking _sunburn_, instead of a massive influx of radiation to his system. He still wears Fiona's ring at his neck, because he's always going to love her and she's the only fucking person who would still love him, looking like this, like he's slowly becoming a fucking corpse. It's not fair that he had to lose her _and _turn into this, this, monster. It's not fair at all.

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><p>In 2261, he leaves Underworld with so much hope. He bids Carol and Greta goodbye, promises to write and visit whenever he can. And then, right around the damn corner, they nab him - a group of slavers who figure that since he already looks like hell, they can use him as a punching bag, and they proceed to do just that all the way to Paradise Falls, where they keep him in a pen for a year. After that, they start dragging him around, trying to pawn him off on <em>someone, anyone <em>and he's willing to bet that it's because they're tired of the smell of dried leather and copper. The only person willing to buy him off the slavers is some Irishman who calls himself Moriarty, living in a town called Megaton. The man tells him that he'll be able to work off what it cost to buy him - the equivalent of six hundred caps, all traded in liquor - if he works at his saloon for a while. What he fails to mention that he'll charge for food and boarding and any-fucking-thing else, and Gob spends the next eleven years miserable and beaten and so lonely.

A woman named Nova rolls into town in 2273, and he doesn't love her, or even particularly like her, because she's manipulative and comes off as a whore, but when she gets roped into staying here to be the in-house prostitute, it at least means he'll be less lonely. She's pretty in an unconventional sort of way, he'll give her that - it's the kind of thing smoothskin men fight for out here, a pretty woman. But she's bitchy and tries to put on a facade of toughness and he knows he should feel sorry for her, but he doesn't - whine all she wants about Moriarty being a drunken asshole, she still wasn't the one being beaten over every little thing. He was under appreciated and abused, and the only light at the end of the tunnel was that if he went now, he'd be with Fiona. He'd never been a religious guy, but it helped to think of it like that.

Four years pass achingly slowly, and all he can think is that he should be finished paying off his debt to Moriarty. When he brings it up at the end of the day, all it earns him is a punch in the jaw and solid kick in the gut that leaves him gasping for air. Nova does nothing to help him, just comforts him when he mentions the pain later, and even that is… Well, she hardly does that, only lightly patting his clothed shoulder.

This place was going to be the death of him.


	2. Chapter Two: Where'd You Go?

**Here's another chapter. I didn't think I'd have time to get it up and posted, but between room cleanings, I managed to work on it a bit. I may be able to do the same with the next chapter of _Thankless Job_. If not... Thank you so, so much for your patience, and reviews.**

**If anyone is into doodles, I'd appreciate it very much if someone would draw references for my stories.  
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><p><em>And I wish you all the love in the world<br>But most of all, I wish it from myself_

Most days, he just wants to roll over and die. It's been two hundred years since Fiona, and it still makes him want to openly weep when he thinks of her; It's been fifteen years since Moriarty bought him off the slavers and he's still not any closer to paying off his debt. He doesn't ask for much, really - just wants to be free and happy, and hell, even being cooped up in Underworld again would be preferable to this shitheap. At least in Underworld, people liked him, cared about him, weren't afraid to touch him; He understood that, though. He wouldn't be his own first choice on the list of people to touch either; His skin was all but gone, for chrissake, and what was left wasn't exactly in good condition. He frequently wonders why people even come in to Moriarty's - he's stuck there all the time, and the Irishman never leaves the doors open, so it probably reeks of old leather and blood, with the slightest hint of decay. It doesn't bother him, because for him, it's a constant; Smoothskins, though… Well, he's pretty sure that if he let it slip that Moriarty pisses in the still, people would spend all their time at the Brass Lantern - and Jericho would probably be pissed as all hell, since he downed more whiskey from this joint than anyone in town. Hell, the former raider's blood was probably all booze and piss by now - it'd explain his sour demeanor.

At least that bastard could come and go as he pleased. Gob was perpetually stuck in the saloon, miserable and waiting to die - hopefully after he got to see Moriarty go, but he wouldn't complain either way. Not that he'd be able to, being dead and all. By this point, he really only had two options: waiting to die of old age (which was, let's face it, not very likely) or waiting for one of the citizens of Megaton to decide they were tired of seeing his rotten face. Jericho could go run around the wastes, leave Megaton and go back to his old ways, if he really wanted to; Go out the way he wanted, in a blaze of gunfire or some such bullshit. Be a badass. That had never been the ghoul - always quiet, always timid, always hesitant to take action, even if it meant defending himself, that was him. And he fucking hated it, more than anything, but he couldn't really be assed to make a change; He'd probably just get himself shot up or beaten or something, and _that_ would be when Simms bothered to do anything. Can't really be bothered to do something about the ghoul, right? The only people who can are those loonies with the Church of Atom, and some days, he really is surprised that they haven't just burst in here and demanded that Moriarty treat him better - but then he remembers that they rarely wander away from that stupid puddle.

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><p>The first time she shows up at the saloon, in the afternoon on August seventeenth, he's probably more startled than she is; That much is evident between him shouting "Please, don't hit me!" and her staring at him like he's just told her that he recently murdered a whole orphanage full of babies. Two vaulties within the week - two vaulties who look strikingly similar, though this is one is decidedly better looking - was unheard of, had been for years. The fact that she's staring at him curiously, eyes wide and wandering and green, so green- <em>Like Fiona's. <em>- makes him feel a little bit less guilty as he looks over. Not much less, because god, just take a look at him, then take a look at her - she was shorter than him, though not by much, and slim, small curves hugged by her vault suit, with a head of long, thick copper hair that was half-hanging out of the messy bun it was in. There's a leather jacket tied around her waist, and a ten millimeter pistol in her right hand that he eyes warily. And right when he starts to expect the worst, she smiles at him - _smiles_. Not one of those polite, 'just trying to keep up appearances' smiles, but an honest to God, warm, inviting 'lovely to meet you' sort of smile, and all he can do is gape at her.

"I'm Joss, Joss Calaway." she chirps brightly, her voice soft and musical and sweet, holding out a hand to shake. Either they were breeding people into crazies down in the vaults, or this girl was dropped on her head recently - smoothskins just did not touch ghouls, period. Hell, the only reason Moriarty ever touched him was to beat the hell out of him, and even then, he's pretty sure it's just because it's much easier to hide the evidence if it's on his hands than on some sort of blunt object. Much, much easier - it's hard to wash the blood off of the billy clubs and shit that are readily available around here; It takes no effort to wash it off of hands or shoes or out of clothes. Just a little bit of Abraxo mixed with the detergent and the red-brown stain of blood is gone.

He doesn't realize that he's still staring at the vaultie until she clears her throat and squints at him. Instinctively, he finds himself wincing, preparing himself for the inevitable smack or punch in the head, but it doesn't come. Straightening himself out and glancing around in search of Moriarty, who _would _hit him if he saw that he was making small talk rather than doing his work, he swallows nervously. He hasn't been this nervous about anything in years, not since… _No_. He really needed to work on not letting his mind go there - it was depressing and he knows Fiona wouldn't want that. "Right, right." Mumbling to himself all the while, he gives her hand a quick shake, fully expecting a look of disgust or for her to snatch her hand away. When she doesn't, he blinks. _It's official - vaulties are nuts. They breed 'em like crazies in those holes_. "I'm, uh… I'm Gob."

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><p>If Joss were to say that she wasn't absolutely terrified when she first saw Gob, she would have been lying - but it's not because of what he is. It's because she stumbles out of the backroom of Moriarty's, where she'd picked the lock to gain entrance, and runs straight into him and she's only just adjusted to the much darker atmosphere of the building. Whatever he is, he's obviously mistreated - who the hell says "Don't hit me!" immediately after meeting someone? - but he seems nice enough, and, well, looking at him vaguely reminds her of looking through her father's old anatomy books, the ones with the cross-sections of skin and muscle and bone. So instead of acknowledging his outburst, the nineteen year old introduces herself cheerfully, shaking his hand just like she would with anyone else and waiting for his name.<p>

"_Gob_?" It's not like she can judge people with odd names - 'Joss' isn't exactly a normal one - but Gob is definitely the strangest she's ever heard. Then again, she's only been outside the vault for roughly five hours now, and before that, the strangest name she'd ever heard was her own (unless you count the names in some of the pre-war books she'd skimmed - 'Kilgore Trout' was a strange name if she'd ever heard one). "Right, well… _Gob_, would you, perchance, have seen my dad? Middle-aged dude, dark hair, sorta looks like me?" Or, rather, she kind of looked like him, albeit definitely more feminine and with a sprinkling of the features she'd only ever seen in photos of her mother. Her face is heart-shaped, her skin pale but tinged red over her nose and cheeks, thanks to recent exposure to the sun; Her eyes aren't wide set, but they're large, almost too large for her face and surrounded by thick, red-gold lashes. Her nose is nothing more than a button above pouty lips hiding too-white teeth, and a soft jaw. She has her father's nose, her father's eyes, the same well-defined cheekbones. Honestly, if he were a few years younger, they could probably pass for siblings more easily than father and daughter.

She watches as he averts his eyes, trying to look everywhere but at her. "There was, uh… There was another vaultie through here this morning, 'round eleven…" Now he looks apologetic, and she wants nothing more than to hug him, this poor, sweet mistreated bartender. "I can't tell you any more, Moriarty'll kill me. But, uh… There's a terminal, in the back. Nova knows the password."

This how she comes to speak to the whore. She can't decide if she likes her or hates her, or if she respects her for taking this all lying down (both metaphorically and literally) without breaking down; All she knows is the moment that 'bad bitch' routine starts up, she seriously considers punching her, right in the mouth. The girl may not look like much, but she spent the last six years of her life flipping through copies of Pugilism Illustrated and practicing the moves on old bags of fabric scraps - she knows how to fight, it's just her gun skills that are shaky, since she hadn't picked up her BB gun since she was twelve, before today. "Listen, Gob _told _me that you know that password, can't you just tell me?"

Nova scoffs. "That sort of information'll cost you - that could get me in some serious trouble, hon."

_Of course, nothing in life is fucking free and nobody can just help someone out of the goodness of their goddamned hearts_. She doesn't even have any money - just a baseball bat, a BB gun, a ten millimeter pistol and the ammo to match, along with a whole box filled with assorted medications and drugs, and a massive bag of what looked like bottle caps that she'd picked off the corpse of a woman she'd found in Springvale, who'd decided a good policy was 'shoot first, ask questions later'. Freezing at that thought, she frowned and narrowed her eyes. "One hundred caps."

"Right, like that'll work. Two hundred."

Joss just stares at her for a few moments, then snorts. "Yeah, right. I just heard you tell someone it's only one twenty to get you in a room for the night. I ain't paying more than that. One twenty, or I'll make sure to mention that _you _thought hacking the terminal would be a grand ol' idea, if I get caught."

The other redhead just stares, shocked that this vaultie just managed to… Fuck, she doesn't even know what the fuck just happened, but she's agreed to the terms and mumbled the password and watched the girl venture into the back room.

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><p>"You could have just <em>told<em> her, you know," Gob rumbles from behind the counter, running a filthy rag over an even filthier glass in an attempt to clean before he stashes it back under the counter. "You know, and it's not like Moriarty'll do anything to _you_." Aside from treat her like shit and probably push her into drugs, which she hadn't turned to yet, but he wouldn't lift a hand to her, not like he would if he thought that Gob was the one who'd spilled the beans.

"And get out of it without a little something for myself? Gob, I've been here for years and still haven't managed to pay him back." _Yeah, big deal. I've been here __**fifteen miserable years**__ and I still haven't paid him back. Don't know that I ever will. _He shook his head, returning his attention to his task, his _chore_, just as Moriarty breezed in. He can't help the way he automatically freezes, and he has to physically stop himself from running to warn the vaultie, because he knows that won't help anyone's case. Luckily, when the girl returns a few minutes later, Moriarty's gone upstairs to straighten out Jericho - for the fifth time that week - for doing God knows what to Nova to make her start screaming bloody murder.

"You find what you were lookin' for, smoothskin?" he queries with a discreet glance at the stairs. The vault girl's shoulders sag in defeat, a frustrated sigh passing her lips as she takes a seat at the bar and buries her face in her hands.

"Galaxy News Radio. It says he's gone to Galaxy News Radio, whatever that is. According to my pip-boy, that's at least four days away from here." There's a note of defeat in her voice that's all too familiar to him - he knows what it's like to feel like you've lost everything, and get that feeling again the moment you think you may have found _something_. Hell, his whole goddamn life is like that: loneliness, then Fiona, then loneliness and depression, then something like hope, only to end up here. Yeah, he definitely gets where she's coming from here. "I'm never going to find him, am I? He's always going to be just one step ahead."

Well, it did sort of seem that way… He's just glad he didn't say that out loud - the thought of making this girl cry was upsetting (not to mention, it would probably earn him the wrath of Moriarty). "Well, uh, no. Maybe you'll find him, soon. He can't always be one step ahead, can he? And, uh, if it helps…" God, is he happy that Colin's kicking up a riot upstairs, or he'd hear. "When you're in town, I'll sell to you at a discount. Least I can do for a friendly face."

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><p>Over the next six months, her visits are like lightning - brief bursts of light in the darkness. She's the first smoothskin to make him a promise and keep it; Before she left that first week, she promised she'd come back, and she made the same promise each time she stopped in. So far, she'd kept it every time. But this time… This time, it's been nearly a month and a half since she's come through Megaton, compared to the usual two weeks, and Moriarty's been especially nasty the whole time. He just needs a friendly face, someone who isn't Nova, someone around whom Moriarty will at least lay off a little bit - he isn't sure what Joss has done to make Moriarty wary of her, but he's so glad it happened. At least when she's in town, the beatings virtually stop - his bruises, the ones people can't really see because of his dried leather skin and corded muscle, get a chance to fade, cuts get a chance to heal.<p>

By now, it's been two full months, and he's starting to think that she's gotten herself killed. It's two in the afternoon, and he's honestly panicking as he polishes glasses and refills drinks; All he can think about is the fact that, in the end, everyone he knows and cares about goes away. But then the door opens and sunlight filters into the dingy room and all he can do is grin like a fucking idiot. Joss is standing there, clad in pieced together raider armor - a single knee pad, a pair of shorts, and what looks to be the top of a pair of coveralls, with a belt of ammo slung over her chest. Oddly enough, he thinks she looks like she belongs in raider armor, but that doesn't disgust him like it might with other people and it doesn't even _bother _him, not one little bit. The scars she's managed to accumulate in two months, those are what bother him. Pale pink lines marring her skin, the skin that's gotten a healthy bit of colour since she's been out, but still looks pale in comparison to everyone else. There's a scar on her right shoulder that disappears beneath her top, only reappear and cut across both collarbones; Another, on her stomach that looks like someone may have tried to carve a large 'x' there; Her right leg has several, criss-crossing lines that cover the front of her thigh, and he finds himself wondering if her back is any worse, and just who did this to her. Her hair is still the same, beautiful red-gold and pulled into a messy bun at the base of her skull; Her eyes are hidden behind a pair of sunglasses that she'd obviously picked off a corpse. He can tell by looking at her that's she stopped at the house she earned by disarming the bomb before she came here - she doesn't have her pack, or any of her usual weapons: no power fist, no Deathclaw gauntlet, no ten millimeter. He doesn't even know if she has more than that - she probably doesn't need them, he's seen her deal with Jericho weaponless.

He expects her to sidle on up to the bar, order a drink, grin and tell him stories, like she always does. What he doesn't expect is for her literally jump over the bar and pull him into a hug, burying her face in the crook of his neck. A panicked squeak (he didn't even know he could still _make_ that sound - that was vaguely embarrassing) flies from his ruined lips before he has a chance to stop it, and the girl, startled, pulls away from him. "Did I hurt you? God, Gob, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, you know I didn't! I just don't know my own strength, oh god, I'm sorry! Are you alright?"

He can't help it - he laughs. The only _smoothskin _who's never hurt him, and she's so damn worried about it. "No, no, you didn't hurt me, I'm fine," he tells her once his laughter dies down. "I just wasn't expecting that. You, uh, you've never done that before, and most smoothskins won't… Well, you know."

He has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing at the insulted look on her face as he speaks. "Gob, I tell you every time I'm in town, _I don't care what you are_. You're one of the only people here who doesn't treat me like either shit or your own personal errand boy." Her face brightens slightly at that, like she's remembered something. He doesn't get a chance to ask what. "I made it to Underworld; I met your mom! She, uh, she wanted to write you a letter, but I didn't have time to wait for one, so uh…" She pauses, pulls him into another hug, and stays that way for a bit. "That's from her, and she says she loves you, and she misses you, but 'don't you ever visit, it's dangerous'. She also said, uh… What did she say? Right! She said 'Take care of her, she's a sweetheart'. Said you'd know what that was about."

If he could blush, his face would be a rather interesting mural of reds. As it were, he felt the skin left on his face and neck heat, and he had to resist the urge to bury his face in his hands. Oh, he knew what that last thing was about - the vault girl herself. How she could be so smart, such a people person, and not pick up on that, he didn't get. "Yeah, yeah, I know what that one's about. Uh, how long are you staying?"

"Well, according to some holotapes I found, Daddy's in vault one twelve. I figured I'd stay two or three weeks, because if he leaves there before I get there, he'll probably pass through here. So, uh, if you wanna write letters to Carol during that time, I'll take 'em with when I go, because I promised I'd go back soon and visit."

"Gob, you lazy shuffler! I don't pay you to chit-chat with the- Oh. It's the wee vault girl, searchin' for her papa." Moriarty sneered, rolling his eyes. "If ye'll kindly let Gob here get back to 'is job, it'd be much appreciated."

"Yeah, and if you'd kindly get yourself killed, _that _would be much appreciated. Can't always get what you want, Moriarty. I'm almost never in town, anyways, and Jericho's the only other person here today. You'll live if Gob's a bit distracted." God, he wishes he were brave enough to stand up to Moriarty, get out of here, be happy. He sees the Irishman's glare, and it makes him nervous.

"Oh, don't you mess with me, lass. I'll ruin y-"

Joss squares her shoulders, steps between Gob and his employer with narrowed eyes and clenched fists. "Get _fucked_, you asshole." For a moment, the ghoul is scared there's going to be a showdown between the two, and he keeps his hands at his sides until Moriarty retreats into the backroom. "Bastard. I wish he'd leave you alone, Gob. I wish I could do something."

He can't quite find the courage to tell her that just her being there helps.


	3. Chapter Three: Strange Relationship

**This is _not _the last chapter of this - I'll be following it at least until the end of Take It Back! This is just to sort of... Get things moving, since my mother is now on bed rest and I don't know how often I will be able to work on chapters for the next six or so weeks. Not long after that, my first year of college starts, so... I'll be a little bit busy. Thanks for your patience, audience.**

**As usual, I would greatly appreciate reviews and art.**

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><p><em>Ain't no sunshine when she's gone<br>It's not warm when she's away_

For going just over a year now (thirteen months and counting), he's been fiddling with the radio, hoping that one day, the signal would clear up; He's nothing short of thrilled when he turns on the radio one day, and GNR actually comes in clear. What he's not expecting when it crackles to life is Three Dog's announcement.

"Good evening, listeners! That's right, from Megaton to Girdershade, Paradise Falls to the Republic of Dave, we're coming to you loud and proud! A while back, I reported about that cat James from vault one oh one makin' his way out of the vault, and his kid followin' him." Had Gob really missed that much? He'd already known about the vaulties - they _had_ come through Megaton, after all - but he definitely hadn't heard about it on the radio, not even on the rare occasion that the radio had given him something other that white noise when it wasn't on the Enclave channel. "Well, his kid, bright little chick by the name of Joss, is the reason you can hear me way out in the ass-end of the wasteland! She made a little trip on over to the old tech museum to snag me a present - a present that so happened to be a dish that she used to repair our relay. You can't stop the signal, baby!"

_That's_ _why it's been so long since she's been in, then_. Just roughly four months - she'd only stayed for one, last time she was in, and she'd come in every single day. How much other shit has he missed while the radio was out of commission? An announcement about the entire DC being completely emptied of super mutants?

"This just in, folks: my sources say that Tenpenny Tower has been taken over by ghouls! Now, I don't know how they got in there, but my guess is some inside help. But hey, long as they ain't feral, right? Remember, kids, regular ghouls are people just like you and me - but you kill all the ferals you want."

Yeah, that was really going to help the rest of the ghouls out; It was just going to have people scrambling for guns and shooting sentient ghouls, claiming they had gone feral. Humans just weren't particularly accepting of things that were different, he knew that full well - hell, he'd been the same way, way back when. Didn't make it any nicer, or any better, or any less shitty to live through. It made it worse, really, because you knew, you _knew _that you would do the same damn thing, even if you swore up and down that you wouldn't. The only people, smoothskins, that he'd met that seemed to be any different were Joss and Moira from Craterside Supply, and he's pretty sure Moira's just… A few dominoes short of a full set, so he doesn't count her. Joss, though… He's still not entirely sure what to make of her. When she's in town, she's… Different. Defends him. Doesn't make a fuss about touching him or him touching her - shit, he's pretty sure that she initiates most of the touching; just little brushes of her hand against his, or a pat on the arm and _hugs_. Before she came around, he hadn't had a hug since the day he left Underworld. If not for her, it would have been sixteen years, now.

When the door crashes open not ten minutes later, he's more than a little bit surprised. Not because it's opened (well, that is a part of it, a very, very small part of it), but because of what's going on. The vaultie has Jericho backing away from her at a surprising speed as she approaches him, her power fist creaking angrily when she clenches her fist. He's pretty sure he's never seen her this angry - he's seen her irritated with Moriarty, sure, and condescending when Lucy West asks her a question, but he's never seen her so pissed off that she's visibly shaking and actually going after someone. He doesn't know if it's making him nervous, seeing this side of her, or if he kind of likes it, in a sick, twisted sort of way; Probably the latter, rather than the former, seeing as it's been over two hundred years since the last time he…

"Listen here, you _disgusting _excuse for a man," she's snarling as Jericho stumbles backwards, his back finally hitting the bar with a painful-sounding 'thunk', "I put up with enough _chauvinistic bullshit _outside these walls. I don't _care _if Simms kicks me out - you try and touch me one more time, and I will not _hesitate _to turn you into paste, you got me?" When Jericho nods, she smiles brightly before plunking down in a seat beside Billy Creel. When she turns to look at him, Gob falters, swallowing nervously and beginning to polish a glass before he even realizes it. "Hey, Gob!"

For a moment, he just stares at her incredulously, as if, after what must have been a full year by now, he's still surprised she willingly speaks to him, then he cracks a smile. He still doesn't full understand why someone fresh from the vault is one of two, really, who doesn't treat him like he's shit. "Hey, smoothskin."

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><p>Over the past year (the past year where she has avoided any more hugging incidents), Gob has… Well, Gob's become nothing short of… She can't really call him her best friend (that had been Amata, initially, but now that she sat back and thought about it, she realized that the Overseer's daughter was sort of a shit friend), because, honestly, she thinks there might be more there. For her, at least, and that honestly worries her a bit at first, since she's technically only known him six months or something - however many months, collectively, she's spent in Megaton. There's not a single person in the wastes she'd go so far out of her way for, not that she can think of - sure, if someone asks her to do something and it's not far out of her way, or it'll earn her something, she'll do it, but… Well, when Gob's involved, she's willing to go traversing through the Mall to get to the museum of history, just to deliver a damn letter. <em>He's sweet as pie<em>, she reasons, _he deserves it, especially with the way he gets treated around here_. And hell, she doesn't care if he's a ghoul - he's still sweet and wonderful and she absolutely adores him. It helps that he's the only man besides Billy Creel to be genuinely kind to her (and don't get her wrong, Billy was great, but she was just not digging the eye patch, or the fact that he had, 'adopted' or not, a child); Other men just seemed to leer at her, make obscene comments and gestures. Being raised in a vault where your only potential mates are all part of a gang and less than charming, it makes you practically weep for anything resembling chivalry.

She spends almost all of her time in the saloon when she's in town, because she knows that, at least while she's in there, Moriarty will lay off Gob; When she returns to her house each night, she ends up wracking her brain for some way to get Gob _out_, safe, happy, free. If she talks to Moriarty about it, she knows he'll give her one price, but keep asking for more, more, more, so that's out of the question. If she kills Moriarty, then she'll probably end up losing her home here in Megaton because something tells her that if Simms hasn't done something about that asshole Irishman yet, he doesn't plan on it, and he won't be too happy when someone takes the law into their own hands, even if it's _more_ than necessary. Fishing into her pocket, she pulls out two crumpled, folded envelopes and slides them across the bar with a sheepish smile. "Sorry they're so crumpled. Had a little run-in with some…" She pauses, frowns, runs her tongue over her lips sort of nervously. Telling the bartender that she had helped Roy Phillips into Tenpenny Tower, that she had helped slaughter the human inhabitants after gunning down Tenpenny himself, that wasn't in the cards. At least she'd talked Roy into letting Daring Dashwood - it made it seem less awful. "Unsavoury fellas on the way here."

And Gob, sweetheart that he is, just tells her it's okay, and she almost breaks right there and tells him about Tenpenny Tower and darting all over the wasteland for that jackass Crowley, doing his dirty work to earn some extra caps (she still needs to take all those damn keys back to him). He just doesn't need to know about that - she knows he's older than she is, knows he's seen more of how shitty people can be, knows he's not naïve, and she thinks he needs to hear the good when she can manage to tell him about it. It's not much, but it's all she can really offer. Unless he calls her on that sometime soon, tells her to stop cutting out all the bad bits, then she's going to keep telling him only what will brighten his day a bit; That would make her feel a little better until she managed to figure out some way to get him out. And if she wasn't able to do that before she found her father, then she was just going to spend as much time in the saloon as she could.

"You make sure you write her back, and I'll take the letter back when I go back to talk to Winthrop." Or, rather, when she takes the ever-growing stockpile of scrap metal in her pack back to Winthrop - you can never have too many stimpaks, and that's what she always trades for. Honestly, she's pretty sure she knows more helpful ghouls than she does helpful human, but at least she hasn't completely cut herself from her own kind. She likes some humans fine (not people like Jericho, and not children), so long as they can at least feign politeness: Billy Creel, Moira (she was a loon, but she meant well), Abraham Washington, Harkness, Seagrave Holmes… They were really the only humans that ever seemed to think she was something other than some pathetic little vaultie who couldn't handle herself if lives all around the world depended on it. Harkness may not have been particularly pleased about her showing up in Rivet City when she did, but he'd not treated her any different than anyone else, and she appreciated that; Flak just seemed to know her way around a gun (literally, not metaphorically); Abraham and Seagrave probably just liked her because she helped out, or offered to; Moira was nice to everyone, really, and… Well, she suspects that Billy might have a bit of a crush on her. Maybe she is misreading him, but it definitely comes off that way, with him trying to pay for all of her drinks while she is in town.

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><p>Joss doesn't stay long this time - just over a week - and Gob finds himself disappointed when she comes in the last day of her stay to announce her departure. He's tempted to try and convince her to stay, but he knows that won't work - she's got things she wants to do, <em>needs <em>to do, and he doesn't want to stop her from getting those things finished. All he can do is shuffle his feet and polish glasses, occasionally glancing up to watch as the girl darts from person to person, saying her goodbyes. By the time she reaches him, he's not expecting it; He's been stuck in his own little world, polishing the same glass for five minutes straight.

"Oh, Gob!" she sings out, and as he spins around to stare at her, he nearly drops the glass in his hands. Joss is grinning at him like a damn Cheshire cat, and despite the frown on his ruined lips, the girl chuckles and pulls the glass from his hands to set it on the counter. The fact that this girl, this slight little vault dweller who's not even one quarter of his age, manages to him so damn nervous is nothing short of pathetic, in his mind - even if she doesn't seem to notice or care. And since the hugging incident hasn't been spoken about, or repeated, he doesn't expect it when she throws her arms around him and buries her face in the crook of his neck, nuzzling like a one of the cats he'd had as a kid. An uncomfortable heat flushes over the skin that remains on his face and the back of his neck, and he brings his hands up to awkwardly pat the girl on the back. "I don't know if - when I'm going to see you again, Gob."

Well, that's unexpected. Has she ever really known when she was going to come back? It never seemed like it to him; Her visits were never the same length, her forays into the outside world varied. If she had her time spent in Megaton planned out, then he really had to hand it to her for sticking to a schedule, regardless of if it was a schedule he liked. The only person he knew who seemed to have any sort of schedule was, well… Himself, and it was a sad-ass schedule if he'd ever seen one. Up at seven in the morning, bed at midnight after the saloon closed at ten; Repeat until you lose your mind. "Uh, that's okay…?" He is officially baffled by this situation. Nobody other than her ever tells him goodbye, let alone stands there and clings to him like he's the only reason they're still standing up. In fact, it sort of made him feel more than a little bit awkward - it didn't give him a boost of confidence like he'd half-expected, because he felt like he should feel guilty for letting the smoothskin hang on him like that.

Her grip on him tightens, and for a moment, he thinks she's going to start crying (and let's not even get on started how awful _that _would make him feel), but instead, she carefully detaches herself from him, sniffling. "No, Gob, it's not." His brows furrow. How is it not okay? Has he missed something here? "I don't know if I'm ever going to see you again, Gob. I… I'm here to say _goodbye_. I'm… I finally got a lead on my dad, when I went through Rivet City, and the Jefferson Memorial, and… I've been trying to work up the courage to follow it. If I don't go now, I'm never going to, and… I'll never… I'm never going to understand." Shoulders sagging with defeat, the girl sighs, and suddenly, he can't help feeling sorry for her, and he hasn't felt sorry for anyone in a long, long time. Before now, he hasn't noticed just how tired she looks (she's still a breath of fresh air around here): Her eyes don't look quite as bright as they used to - they look dull, blank, with dark, blue-black bruises smeared around them from lack of sleep; Her hair looks lank and he can really only tell because she's only just now pulling it back into a ponytail secured with a length of what looks to be twine; While she may have gained colour, it doesn't stop her from having the pallor that always seems to come with stress or sickness or insomnia. She looks the kind of awful he's only ever read about in books, the kind of awful that keeps people confined to their beds for huge lengths of time.

Fidgeting under her gaze, the ghoul clears his throat. There's really not much he can tell her, besides 'good luck', which always feels forced, to him. "I, uh, I read in a book, back before the war… 'Never say goodbye, because goodbye means going away, and going away means forgetting'." This earns him a puzzled stare, and he almost snaps in defense before he remembers that most people nowadays, ghoul or otherwise, probably haven't read the book in question. "What I mean is, uh… I'm not saying goodbye to you…? No, that's not right. I mean…" Silence settles for a few seconds as he tries to piece together his meaning in his head. "I mean that this isn't goodbye," he finally says firmly. "It's just you leaving for a while. You'll come back, you always do. You _promised_." He feels so childish, clinging to that promise for all he's worth, but it's really all he's got - polishing glasses and speaking to her, holding tightly to the small scraps of hope he still has.

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><p>In order to maintain what little dignity remained in tact after her emotional little spectacle in the middle of Moriarty's, Joss had just about run out of town at full speed, pack secure and power fist safely enveloping her hand. She wasn't lying back in Megaton when she said that she didn't know when she'd be back - she doesn't know if she'll actually find her father in vault one hundred twelve, or if it'll just be more of the same old wild goose chase, and she's really not sure she can handle it if it's the latter. If it's just another brick in the goddamn road on the way to her father… She might just give up. All this chasing, with him always just out of reach, fingertips grasping blindly at the wind, it was wearing her down, and while she'd never been one of the kids in the vault to stay in their little cubby, preferring to wander the halls… She knew that if this was just another failure, she was probably just going to go back to Megaton and hope and pray that her father wandered through again. And in that time she'd grow angry, resentful, upset that she could have had a life, if her father hadn't decided to leave. A sheltered life, and one that probably would have been largely unhappy, but a life nonetheless. Swallowing the knot that had formed in her throat, she marched on, shoulders back, head up, trying to look proud and intimidating.<p>

She wasn't sure what time it was when she finally reached the garage that supposedly housed vault one hundred twelve, since she refused to check her pip-boy, but she knew it wasn't as late as she had expected. After leaving town at some time around eleven in the morning, she was fairly sure that she hadn't been on the move for more than four or so hours. It was still light out, so unless she'd managed to wind up in Alaska (she'd read once that they had really long summers or something like that, that meant there would be constant sun for a period of six or so months), it wasn't too close to sunset.

The all too familiar snuffling of mole rats was present when she pushed the door open. She hated those things; Honestly, she hadn't been the slightest bit upset when Moira's mole rat repellant hadn't worked as intended. Hitting things _and _making them explode had been, simultaneously, the least dangerous and most exciting thing she'd done since falling ass backwards out of the vault. In fact, she had gone incredibly far out of her way to find more mole rats so she could make their heads explode - she just hadn't mentioned that to Moira. Now, she wasn't sure why she'd sold that thing back to Moira in the first place - it would have been much better than having to remember to clean the blood and mole rat guts out of the little nooks and crannies of the pneumatic gauntlet she wore, she decided as the rodents swarmed her and she took each one out with a swift punch right between the eyes. She scours the place for anything of use (finding a stimpak, a Nuka-Cola Quantum, and a copy of Tumblers Today), taking roughly forty-five minutes to do so, before she even thinks of looking for the vault entrance. She doesn't know if she'll actually need any of the things she's found, but better safe than sorry. On one of the walls in the room with the large doors, she finds a button; Upon pressing it, the floor opens up and nearly sends her sprawling backwards.

With a large intake of breath, she crosses herself, something she hasn't done in years, and descends the stairs, hoping desperately that this isn't the last thing she ever does.

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><p>Time seems to creep ("Movin' slower than molasses in January", as his grandma used to say) by as he waits for her return. It's only been three days, and he didn't ask about the location the vaultie was headed to - as far as he knows, she's only just gotten there - but thinking about that does nothing to calm his anxiety. When he's supposed to be cleaning the bar, after both Nova and Moriarty have gone to sleep, he spends a good portion of his time pacing the dirty, creaking floor, rag clenched in his fist. If Nova's noticed, heard the incessant creaks downstairs, she hasn't said anything; The fact that his <em>owner <em>hasn't him beaten the tar out of him is enough proof that _he_ hasn't. Or maybe he'd be able to get away with it, just because, aside from the creaking at night, he's spoken less than normal since Joss left. He knows her coming back isn't something she can necessarily control - the wasteland can be a cruel place, and you can only do so much to survive in it before something gets you - but he just keeps telling himself that she promised. It's like a chant in his head, the one thing keeping him running without collapsing into a pile of worried mush. He's pretty sure Moriarty would find a way to beat him if he was mush, anyways; The man was trouble, and if he could have realized that fifteen years ago, he would have run, hidden, something when those slavers brought him out. The slave pens may have been hell, but this was worse.

After a week, he's starting to have a bit of trouble concentrating. This isn't too unusual - there have been times where he just completely spaces out, everything about the current time and place, and he's usually transported to a time when he's with Fiona. Recently, it's different: always here, but free, and always with Joss. 'Worrisome' might be the word he would use to describe this; He still has Fiona's ring at his neck and he hasn't told anyone about her in years. Sometimes, he wonders if people know, realize he wasn't always this way and that once, he had been a man trying to start a family with the woman he thought he'd spend the rest of his life with. If they realize that once, he'd been just like them. He doubts it with every fiber of his being. Two weeks later, he finds himself snapping to attention, staring at the door, every time it swings open. It's never Joss, never someone coming to say they've found her (really, it could only be Jericho or Billy Creel, since they were the only ones who had left recently), never anyone who matters. It's the same old crowd, day in and day out.

By the time she's back, with her father in tow, it's been three full weeks. He doesn't even know she's back in town for a day and a half after she returns, but he can't be mad - after nearly a month of whatever she'd had to do to get to her dad back, she deserved the rest and catch up time.

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><p>"<em>Sweetheart, you've saved me! Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled to see you," James says lightly, tugging Joss into a tight hug that she's surprised he can manage, after who knows how long stuck in that tranquility lounger, "but what are you doing out here?"<em>

_For a brief moment, Joss looks extremely unimpressed and James can't help but be shocked at how much she reminds him of Catherine. "Good ol' __**Alphonse **__went crazy on toast when you left, Dad." He blinks, not really having much time to formulate a response before the girl is speaking again. "He __**killed **__Jonas. He __**tried **__to kill me. I bailed, Amata helped." Her tone is clipped, and he winces. It's more than obvious that she's not pleased with him, and hasn't been since the beginning of this conversation. _

"_I meant for you to be safe. If I had known that this would have happened -"_

"_You probably still would have left." Joss interrupts, shaking her head. "I listened to the… The holotapes from the memorial. It's about Mom, isn't it? You… You want to get the purifier running for her."_

_He wants to tell her no, that he's doing this because he wants to and the world needs it, but that's not true. He's doing this solely because this was Catherine's life work, the one thing she was devoted to more than making sure that when the baby came, it would be healthy. "Yes, honey." For a moment, his shoulders sag, and it seems like everything is bleak and this will happen. "You can help me! Come to Rivet City with me, we'll talk to Madison, and-"_

_At the mention of the scientist, Joss visibly cringes, wrinkling her nose. "I __**hate **__her." The woman hadn't exactly been kind when she had gone to Rivet City, to put things simply. If she hadn't had so much to do in the city at the time, she probably would have clocked the woman and stomped off to find her father on her own. "And I can't just pack up and go, Dad. I've got a life here… And I have to go back to Megaton," She goes quiet, smiling slightly, "I promised someone I'd come back, and you know how I am about keeping promises."_

_James raises an eyebrow. "So you've found yourself a beau, then? Go on, you can tell me - who is he? What's he like?"_

"_Oh, no, no, no, no!" Her face flushing an unnatural shade of red, she tries to cover herself. This is not the sort thing Joss wants to speak to her father about. "It's not- We're not- We don't- Can't even- He's my best friend. He works at Moriarty's." she finishes lamely, feeling distinctly more embarrassed about that statement the moment her father gives her that look - the one parents always give when they don't believe you but aren't going to press the issue._

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><p>Obviously, despite the fact that he'd gone through Megaton first and knew the limited number of people employed at the saloon, <em>Gob <em>was not the person James had expected her to be talking about, she can see it on his face. He's just standing there awkwardly, just inside Moriarty's, as she shoves by Jericho and around Billy Creel, and slides to a stop at the end of the counter, grinning broadly at the bartender who looks like he's torn between yelling at her and hugging her. To help him make the decision, she holds her arms out, continuing to grin until the ghoul sheepishly shuffles closer and rasps out, "You came back."

"Ye of little faith," she mumbles, hugging him tight and laughing, "I promised I always would, didn't I?"


	4. Chapter Four: My Sweet Prince

**Here's another installment, guys. Eventually, I plan on going back and fixing my little errors, so don't worry. Do point them out, though, so I remember! Also, if you know of an actress who sort of fits the description of Joss, please leave a comment! I'm trying to put a face with the name here, and the mental picture I have ain't quite doing it.**

**On another note, I would like to mention that there will probably be... A lot of anachronistic songs mentioned throughout the rest of the story, since the Fallout 'verse is permanently rooted in the fifties. It's not really an important fact, really, I just figured I'd mention, for anyone who may be a ~stickler for detail.  
><strong>

**I would like to say that, although I do not _reply _to them, I do take your reviews into consideration as I write. Eventually, once I'm more comfortable with my writing and such, I promise I'll start throwing in a section at the beginning or end of the chapter where I answer reviews - so if you have questions or suggestions, keep on postin' 'em!**

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><p><em>All my loving I will send to you<em>  
><em> All my loving, darling, I'll be true<em>

"He's my best friend, he really is. He was the only person who didn't treat me like shit when I crawled out of the vault, did you know that?" Of course, he did. She'd only told him about seventeen separate times on the way back from vault one twelve, and he'd kept asking uncomfortable questions ('Are you involved?' 'Do you want to be?' Things like that). And it's only gotten worse since they came home from the saloon. They've only been back for maybe ten minutes, and she's damn near certain that her face is an unattractive shade of red, and has been consistently that colour the entire time. Even when he'd been the big, bad vault doctor, she hadn't wanted to elaborate on any relationships she may have had - but now, she'd spent a year away from him and she _really _did _not_ want to talk about this. It was awkward and she was a grown woman, and as far as she was concerned, the moment her dad had walked his ass out of the vault, he'd lost his license to ask such questions. It wasn't that she thought he didn't care, or cared less; It's that she's still a little bit peeved that he left without telling her. _Even if I **am **going to help with Project Purity_. The disbelieving look she's earned herself makes her frown and scramble for words; Just because she was damn near positive, at this point, that she _did_ want something more with Gob... That didn't mean it was going to happen. "Daddy, I _told _you, Gob and I aren't-"

Her father merely clicks his tongue in mock scolding. "'_Like that_', yes, you've told me that." He looks simultaneously completely bemused, disgusted and strangely _happy_, and she is, well... To say 'confused' may be a little bit of an understatement. There's something she knows he's think, she's just not sure what yet - something she can't quite touch on. She's never fully understood how her father thinks, and it's been so long that she can't even pretend to get how he may have changed after being stuck in some freaky-deaky simulation pod for who knows how long. That could change anyone, really - especially if you were stuck as a damn _dog_, something that still made her snicker. "But that doesn't stop me from being concerned that the relationship will... Grow. You'll have to deal with a great deal of backlash, honey." Oh, she doesn't give a rat's ass about 'backlash'; If she did, she never would have befriended Gob in the first place, or spent so damn much time in Underworld, or... A lot of things, really. If backlash was something that actually bothered her, her life would be completely different than it was. However, the Calaways were generally known for their lack of forethought - just the fact that they were vastly different despite looking so damn similar. Where James was generally calm, cool, collected, or at least gave the appearance of being so, Joss was stubborn and hot-tempered; James was forgiving and Joss could hold a grudge like nobody's business. Where James was good with explosives and computers and medicine, Joss was good with speaking and combat and picking locks. That wasn't to say that one hadn't learned from the other - Joss would never have gotten anywhere if her father hadn't taught her how to hack computers, and James would never have gotten out of that damn simulation if she wasn't good with people. But then again, neither would she.

"Yeah, well, I don't worry much about backlash. You and I have that in common," she snarks, arms folding over her chest. At the look on her father's face, the balloon of her anger rapidly deflates, leaving her feeling something akin to guilt. She understands why he left, why he thought it best she didn't know; Knows he probably put a lot of thought into the planning and nosing about to make sure she'd be safe. It still stings that he left and only planned on telling her via a god_damn _holotape, but she understands; At least, as well as she can without children of her own (and there's a nasty scar on her belly that will prevent _that_ from ever happening). Pushing her hands back through her hair, which currently hangs loose around her shoulders, she sighs. She wants so desperately to be absolutely furious with him, to refuse to speak to him and kick him out of her home to go stay in the common house or at Moriarty's; Wants to pretend she never found him alive and not she doesn't ever to worry about it again. She wants to pretend he's dead and gone and there was _closure_, and that she never has to think about 'Project Purity' again, but she isn't that lucky. Her sense or morality may be a little bit wonky, but she knows when's been presented with something that absolutely_ has_ to be done, as much as she dreads it. "I'm sorry, Dad. I just... Look, I understand why you left, and without telling me. I don't _want _to, but I do. But I want to make something extremely clear to you, right now: I love you, I do. You're my dad, and I wouldn't be here without you," she pauses, sighs, fixes her gaze on the bobblehead stand to her left. There are eleven there - she's missing nine, she notes. "But I'm _not_ helping with Project Purity for you. I'm doing this for _Mom_, because it's what s_he _would have wanted. I'm happy I found you... But I would have preferred if you'd just fucking _brought _me _with _you instead of leaving me in a _goddamn _hole with a bunch of useless nut jobs!"

She pinches the bridge of her nose, takes a few deep breaths. Now isn't the time for this emotional overflow that's been building up and being pushed back down - it can wait until after Project Purity is finished and she can safely screech at her father without hindering its progress. "I'm going back to the saloon. You can take the bed upstairs." At the sound of him starting to speak, she whirls around, pointing at him. "Just go to bed, Dad." Never mind the fact that it's barely seven o'clock; She just doesn't want him following her right now. As much as she loves him, if she doesn't leave, she'll do something brash, and he'll end up hurt and trying to patch himself up at the home infirmary upstairs; So much different from their years in the vault when he'd always had to patch her up, never himself.

* * *

><p>She's the last person Gob expects to see when the saloon door swings open; The sour look on her face just makes it all the more shocking. He can see her knuckles have gone white as she stomps up to the bar with a bottle of whiskey in hand (<em>Smart girl, considering the piss-diluted liquor sold here<em>, he muses with an inward smile, before reminding himself that he probably shouldn't be smiling in any way, shape or form, if _she _looks that pissed off). He watches her take a long drink, eyes tracing over the bow of her full lips and the curve of the lean column of her throat as she drinks, hoping that she doesn't notice. Sometimes, just watching her, he feels like some creepy old pervert (she's what, twenty, while he clocks in at somewhere near three hundred by now?), but worse, an old pervert stuck in the friend zone. When he was younger, still human, he'd been perpetually rooted there, and he'd hated it - but he was never bold enough to do something about it. Now, with skin all but gone, exposing smooth muscle between patches of leathery skin... Hell, the girl may have no problem hugging him, but anything more than that is probably more than out of the question. That doesn't mean he hasn't spent countless hours, after the bar's wiped down and he's laying on his shitty little cot, fantasizing about it; Imagining brushing his ruined lips over her scars, threading his fingers through her hair and kissing her, watching her pull away with a dreamy smile. Doesn't mean he hasn't thought, more than once, of everything moving, so fast-paced and wonderful and warm, before bright lights spark behind his eyelids; Taking the angel of the wastes and turning her into something unexpected and untouchably, delicious naughty, a part of her only he'd ever get to see.

Swallowing hard, he blinks; He doesn't know how long he's been out of it, just staring and mindlessly polishing the same glass, but Joss is staring at him expectantly. "Er, what?" The lazy half-smile that tugs at her lips makes his mouth feel drier than usual, his heart skip beats; Shit, was it hotter in here than usual? He doesn't remember anyone _ever_ smiling at him like that - a strange mix between a look that says he could do whatever he wanted to her and she'd love every single second of it, and a look that pretty clearly read that she thought he was messed in the brain (which he technically may have been, some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder bullshit from all that he's gone through). He's probably just misreading things anyway; She probably just sees him as sad, pathetic Gob from the saloon, just like everyone else does. It doesn't really matter in the long run - he still doesn't have a chance with someone like her. She's all bold words and strong actions and traveling, sinewy muscle rippling _beneath s_kin; He's all broken flesh and visible, deep red muscle, too meek to stand up for himself. Polar opposites, really - he was surprised it had worked out with him and Fiona. He's fairly certain the odds of that 'opposites attract' bullshit working again are astronomical, now that he looks like death slightly warmed over.

"I _said_, 'I don't know what I'd do without you, Gob'." she repeats, and he swears she blushes for all of two seconds before she composes herself and takes a long drink from the bottle in her hand. Well, whatever she's trying to drown with that whiskey, it's fairly safe to say she's succeeding - she can possibly have been here more than ten minutes, and more than half of the burning alcohol has already disappeared down her throat. He doesn't think he's ever seen her drunk before - she normally orders Nuka-Cola when she comes through, because even lukewarm fizz is preferably to the dulled burning of pissed-in whiskey or vodka. "I know I'm not here often, and I don't really tell you, when I am, but... You're my best friend," she pauses, and he watches her as she fidgets nervously (he doesn't ever remember seeing her nervous, either; even the first time she was here, she was the picture of confidence). "Not just... Not just here in Megaton, but anywhere. If, if it, uh, weren't for you, I wouldn't come back to Megaton. Ever." That was... Unexpected. He follows her eyes as they dart from Jericho, sullenly nursing a beer at the end of the bar, to Lucy West, chatting animatedly with some nameless settler, to Nova, and then return to him. "I hate most people here. They treat me like a goddamn _child_." After one final drink, leaving the empty bottle to clatter against the bar, she grins at him - that broad, heart-stopping, absolutely mind-numbing grin that he hopes, wishes that she would save for him and only him. "But not you. You're always there, even when I'm gone for weeks and weeks and don't think of sending word with a courier or anything - I'm sorry about that, by the way, I'll make sure to work on that, because I love you-"

He doesn't even hear anything she says after '_you're always there_'. Shit, maybe being dubbed 'the best friend' permanently condemned him to that friend zone, but if he still got to have Joss in his life, he could deal. The Lone Wanderer, known for making the best decisions regardless of the time it took to make them or how much it hurt (at least, that was all he'd been hearing on the radio, and from her, really)... He was her best friend. Yeah. He could definitely deal with that. It doesn't even click in his head that she said that she loves him - even if he did, he'd probably reason that she meant as a friend, after the rest of her words. Being someone's best friend is enough of a shock, at this point, he doesn't know if he could mentally handle being told anything about love. "Really?"

* * *

><p>She finds herself shrinking when Gob doesn't acknowledge her confession. Immediately, she assumes the worst of the situation: he doesn't feel the same, so he's just going to pretend she didn't say it. The fact that he didn't hear her is also a possibility, or that he misinterpreted it... But she can't quite bring herself to say it again, not even with a full bottle of whiskey nestled, burning in the pit of her stomach. Another bottle, maybe, and she'll be good to go; Good thing she bought two when she stopped at the Brass Lantern. Even better that she'd only paid half price after leaning <em>just enough<em> over the counter to give good ol' Leo Stahl a peek - he was sweet, now that he was off the chems, but that man just seemed to be perpetually horny and too afraid to go up to Moriarty's and pay for a night with Nova. Granted, women who are actually attractive are few and far between, so she has to cut him some slack... Not a snowball's chance in hell (whatever a snowball was - she vaguely remembered reading something that made mention of that phrase once, though, and it seemed to fit) was she going to sleep with him, though. No siree. She sees him more as an older brother type, anyhow - sees the whole of the Stahl family as a sort of strange, conflicting extension of her own, really, with Jenny taking the place of that stereotypical older sister that you weren't quite happy to have, but appreciated nonetheless, and Leo and Andy being the older brothers who you didn't tell anything so you could actually have fun.

Eventually, she finds her words, manages to spit something out. "Uh, yeah?" There's no reason for her to lie about that, because it's probably the truest thing she's ever said in her life. Well, besides when she told Wally Mack that she'd heard that he'd do _anything _Butch told him - because that rumour had been all over the vault since they'd hit fourteen. "Gob, you're literally one of maybe ten _people_ in the entire wasteland that doesn't treat me like I'm either a child or I've been fucking _brained _because I lived in a vault." Rubbing at her face with one hand, she shifts to tug the other bottle of whiskey out of her pocket and pop the stopper out of the bottle. She takes a short drink, wincing as the burn runs down her throat like a shot of liquid fire. The warmth doesn't spread quite as nicely after one full bottle, but she can feel it loosening her muscles and destroying her mental filter, slowly but surely. For a while, they chat, with him wandering off to do some odd thing or another when it was necessary - getting Jericho a new drink, fetching a plate of cold iguana bits to give to some random customer. It's nearing eight thirty when she finally finishes her second bottle of whiskey, and she's basking in the warmth of the alcohol and the fact that both Jericho and Lucy West have finally turned in for the evening (and she wouldn't be surprised if Lucy ended up in Jericho's bed, because that sappy, 'I'm such a sweet girl and I would never look at a former _raider_ that way' bullshit is just that - bullshit). She likes it best when the customers start thinning out - fewer customers mean less judgement, and, even better, fewer passes made by Moriarty. By nine, the saloon is more or less officially closed - Moriarty has retired for the night, as has Nova, and there hasn't been a single customer in fifteen minutes, which is probably a good thing, considering her boughts of giggles brought on by every little thing.

"Y'know, when I was seventeen, we had this, this..." Squeezing her eyes shut, she gestures wildly, trying to pick the word from the air. "Sweethearts' Dance or something. And I heard this song there, and I haven't heard it since." She also hasn't done a whole lot of singing since then, but she'll hazard a chance now, seeing as she's just drunk enough to hopefully not remember this. "I... Maybe you'll know it, if I sing a bit?" Receiving a nod in reply, she smiles brightly and takes a deep breath, trying to arrange the lyrics in her head. "**_And I wish you all the love in the world... But most of all, I wish it from myself! And the songbirds keep singing, like they know the score... And I love you, I love you, I love you, like never before..__._**" With surprising grace, she scoots out of her seat, leaning over the bar to press a kiss to Gob's battered cheek; Instead of waiting for his reaction to both the singing and the kiss, she stumbles out of the bar, shooting a smile over her shoulder before the door closed.

* * *

><p><em>What <em>had that been? It had obviously been unexpected and shocking, but definitely not unpleasant or unwelcome; Both the singing and the kiss. Her voice was like... He didn't even know if he could actually describe it. It was like something simultaneously rich and light, sweet and melodic and _beautiful _and he was in awe. He hadn't heard a damn thing like that since before the bombs - Hell, since he was a kid. And that kiss... Sure, it had only been a kiss on the cheek, but it had sent his heart racing at a pace that was far above normal. God, what was this vault girl doing to him? He's a mess when she's in town, a mess when she's out of town; A damn kiss and he ends up near catatonic because he can't believe it. He lets his head hit the bar with a metallic thud, wincing at the brief ache but doing nothing about it. She was going to be the goddamn death of him, he just knows it - all that soft, soft skin and those eyes, and god, just everything about her. This is what he gets for getting attached to people so easily, especially people who spare him a kind word and a smile, and _especially _pretty girls. While he's never been one for redheads, he knows that if he'd ever met someone like Joss before, god, he'd never have another type. From her legs, muscled and skin tinged gold from the sun (those legs were the reason for many of his fantasies, he'd admit), to her thick coppery hair that she only seems to let down when she's in the saloon... Don't even get him started on what he thinks it'd be like to get her alone, pin her against the wall or the bar and just- He lets out a strangled groan and grips the edge of the bar tightly, taking a few deep breaths. _Just stop thinking, wait 'til you're done cleaning the damn bar and in your room and Moriarty won't do shit,_ he tells himself before puttering about to collect all the empty bottles and cleaned plates. 'Waste not, want not', or some such shit, that's what Moriarty always tried to sell him when he suggested buying some new plates or bottles. It doesn't really make sense to him, but he never argues it.

By the time he manages to get the bar scrubbed down, the plates and bottles as clean as possible, and scrub his only spare set of clothing clean, he's pretty sure it's nearing one in the morning and his eyes have that wonderful, gritty feeling that always accompanies staying up too long. He only stays up long enough to take care of the painful, throbbing heat that's settled in his groin; When he comes, he's out like a light._  
><em>


	5. Chapter Five: Mad World

**Lord a'mighty. I've been working on this chapter for ages, and I just... It was just not coming out as I would like. Hopefully, the next chapter will be a little less... I'm not even sure what the word I want to use is, honestly. Something about this story, as compared to _Thankless Job_, just isn't adding up for me, and I'm not sure what that something is. Feel free to throw suggestions at me.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>Lucky I'm in love with my best friend<br>Lucky to have been where I have been_

She doesn't remember it the next day. Her mind is a painful, painful haze when she wakes, confused, to find herself sprawled out on the couch downstairs. Aside from the dull throbbing at the base of her skull, there was also a tingling, pins-and-needles feeling in her right arm that suggested she had been sleeping with it pinned beneath her at some point not long ago. Every shift of her body resulted in another twinge of pain in her head, vision blurring and flashing red. Her mouth is dry and tastes sort of like she'd decide it would be grand old idea to lick the ashtray sitting on the table outside shortly after brushing her teeth with water from the puddle around the bomb. "Fucking _Christ_, ouch." She hasn't even managed to pry her eyes open again; She probably forgot to turn off the lights before dropping dead on the couch. The light will only intensify the ache in her head, and she knows it. "_Fuck_."

"I do wish you wouldn't swear, Joss Lynn." Letting out a high-pitched shriek, she jolts into a sitting position, eyes wide, something she quickly realizes is a mistake. With a groan, she carefully spreads herself over the couch and throws an arm over her eyes; There wasn't exactly an abundance of pain pills out here, she wasn't going to be up any time soon. "And _that _is why you shouldn't drink, sweetheart." The fact that every thing hurts is the only thing the keeps her from slapping at her father as he presses a bottle of purified water into her hands. "Drink this," he continues, only after she sits up just enough to start sipping at the water, "and we can get some InstaMash in you, when you feel up to it."

Making a rather wide array of gagging noises, she shook her head. "InstaMash, whatever the hell it's supposed to be, is fucking _gross_." She knows she can't really afford to be picky about her diet in the wasteland if she ever wants to eat, but InstaMash is, and always would be, a last resort. It was light enough that she could always keep a couple of boxes on her when traveling, which made it convenient, but definitely didn't make it taste any better. It was like dirt and water and paste, mashed together into something resembling food, and wholly unpleasant. Or maybe that was just her; She _had _always lacked the strong stomach required for certain foods. At sixteen, when Jonas had tried to help her father make some elaborate dinner as a celebration for her _not _getting garbage burner on the G.O.A.T., she'd nearly lost her lunch - how those two had managed to find canned green beans, she didn't want to know. "_Don't _scold me. _Please_. I am twenty years old, and you walked away from any right to do that when you walked away from the vault without telling me, okay?" She kept telling him that, but he really didn't seem to be getting it, and she doesn't understand why. It's not a difficult concept to grasp; He's really very lucky she's even speaking to him, let alone allowing him to stay in her home and planning on helping him complete Project Purity. "I'm not a baby, Dad! I'm a grown woman! I'm _not _your little girl any more."

"Sweetheart, you'll _always _be my little girl." She's fighting to avoid a replay of last night, now; She doesn't want to storm out of here again, and she certainly doesn't want to spend her entire day drunk. It's only - she hazards a glance at her Pip-boy, frowning at the clock - ten in the morning, anyways; Drinking shouldn't start until at least noon. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she manages to force herself into a sitting position, face buried in her hands when her head protests. "I know you aren't happy with my decisions, and I know you think I've forfeited my position as your father, but that doesn't change anything. "I love you, and I'll alwa-"

"_Just stop_!" she winces, at both the harshness and the volume of her voice. "I don't want to talk about it anymore, shut up. My head hurts and I'm frustrated and everything is so goddamn _confusing_ and having to deal with all of this is not helping _at all_!" And here, she'd been hoping to keep this all buried until a more appropriate time; There would have been a lot of passive aggressive comments between now and then, but she was going to keep it in, just like she'd done in the vault. Just shut her mouth and glared and rolled her eyes and occasionally offered a little snippet of sarcasm. Here, there's no overseer to crack down on her, nobody to enforce good behaviour (well, the regulators did that, but somehow, it was significantly less threatening to be chased down by someone in wide open spaces); Just her conscience and her own sense of morality. Her moral compass wasn't exactly... Well, it wasn't always pointing north, but you did what you had to when in survival situations and she had long since made peace with that. There was still a vague sense of guilt, it was just overshadowed by the need to thrive, and, as of late, return to Gob. Poor, sweet, mistreated Gob, who was nothing but wonderful and kind, even to those who didn't deserve it in the slightest (which was more than she could say for herself). It was sort of funny, how different they were, but how well they got along. Logic dictated that, out of everyone in town, she should probably be the most timid around him, having lived in a vault... But that was obviously not the case. Being timid around ghouls probably would have been better in the long run; At least, it would have been for the inhabitants of Tenpenny Tower (aside from Daring, who she'd come to look at as sort of surrogate grandfather after speaking to him only once).

* * *

><p>"Hey, Gob." He's expecting her to speak - he's <em>not <em>expecting her to sound so tired. Even when she looks like she hasn't slept in weeks, months, she still sounds bright and happy when she speaks to him; This time... It's strange and he doesn't like it. He doesn't like seeing her tired and upset; Doesn't like it when she doesn't brighten up upon seeing him like she usually does. "We're leavin' today. Figured I'd stop in and say goodbye, pick up some stimpaks." It's obvious, to him, that she doesn't really want to go; It's there in the tone of her voice, the fact that she just wants to do anything but this. At this point, he has no clue what to say to her, how to comfort her or anything... And it's not like he can go with her. Moriarty would kill him, and probably send the Talons after her... Assuming they weren't already after her, that is. "How many stimpaks're in stock?"

Gob just stares at her for a few moments, blinking, before he ducks beneath the counter to rifle through the stock. As on most occasions, he finds only eight stimpaks, which he carefully gathers and lays out on the counter before Joss. "Eight, smoothskin." When the girl cracks a smile, he nearly grins. He watches as she carefully counts out the caps she owes - two hundred and sixteen or something like it, thanks to her discount - but frowns when she keeps counting, all the way up to two hundred and forty. "Smoothskin, you kno-"

"Gob, hush." she tells him, effectively cutting him off. The fact that she's not all jokes and warm smiles right now is unnerving. "I don't know when I'll be back, and I _don't _want to come back and find out Moriarty beat you because of the discount, okay? I want you nice and safe when I get back. If you're not... I don't know what I'm going to do, but it's not going to be good. You're..." When she goes silent, he expects her to continue after a few moments; Instead, she digs a lunchbox out of her pack and carefully lays the stimpaks inside. With the box returned to her pack, he watches the vault girl roll her shoulders, and he finds himself feeling about as uncomfortable as she looks. "Just... Be careful while I'm gone, all right? I know there's only so much you can do, because Moriarty's an asshole, just... I'm going to try and figure out how to get you out of here, while I'm gone, okay?"

* * *

><p>Something like four months pass and Gob has pretty much given up hope on Joss ever coming back. Roughly nine days ago, Three Dog announced the death of the girl's father - no mention of the wanderer herself, aside from a brief 'Wow, must suck to find your dad and then have him die' sort of comment. He's pretty much assumed that, if she heard that, she just gave up; She's not weak, but... Well, most people would give up if they heard that or something like it. Those updates had been all that kept him going and now, with no reason to look forward to another day, he just wants to weep. But with a skill born out of years of complete suppression of feelings, he bites down on his tongue and continues scrubbing at a glass with a frown. He's happy that Billy Creel is the only one in at this point - Nova hasn't even come downstairs, Moriarty's outside, and it's somewhere around noon. There's a good hour before anyone else even thinks of getting a jump start on their alcoholism; He's thankful for that. Billy's at least quiet, and when he does talk, he's polite and babbling stories about Maggie, which isn't so bad. He's only ever actually seen the kid once, but it's good that she's doing well enough that Billy is actually able to speak about her endlessly. Before he has a chance to ask, the ghoul cracks open another Nuka-Cola and sets it before him.<p>

"_How_. _Many_. _Caps_?" he can hear vaguely through the door, someone's voice rough and irritated and obviously feminine. Of its own accord, one eyebrow raises, and when he looks at Billy, he looks just as confused. The metal has muffled the voice just enough that it's not particularly recognizable, just something sort of familiar, but out of reach in his memory. "_Just answer the question, you rotten Irish bastard!_" At this, Gob sees Billy stand, ready to head towards the door if more shouting occurs. That's when the door swings open and Moriarty trudges in, followed by a rather disgruntled loo- _Joss_. The lone wanderer doesn't spare anyone a passing glance as she follows Moriarty to the back room, glaring. When the door swings closed, Gob can hear the pair arguing - all he consistently catches is 'caps'. A rather large part of him isn't even worried about that - he's worried about Joss. From what he saw, she looked _awful_; Blue-black smeared around her eyes, probably from lack of sleep, a multitude of new scars, bruises, cuts. He doesn't know what she's spent the last nine days doing, but he isn't sure he _wants _to. If it's resulted in her coming back looking like she's gone through a damn food processor, it can't be anything good. He's sure she'll tell him eventually anyways; He doesn't think she's kept much, if anything, from him. "_Deal_."

When the door opens, Joss is giving him a tired grin, and Moriarty can be heard counting caps in the background. "Oh, _Gob_." Instead of answering straight away, he just blinks at her, mildly confused. "Guess what?"

"What."

The girl doesn't look like she's capable of actually looking _happy _at the moment, but she's pretty damn close. Instead of answering his question (a question that she had, essentially, prompted), she just launches into speech again. "Do you have anything here? Y'know, clothes or belongings or anything?" _Why the hell could she possibly need to know that_? is his initial thought. "C'mon, Gob, this is an important question!" Eventually, he nods. There's not much - maybe two other shirts and one pair of pants, and that's it, really. "Go get all of it." Okay, that's just _asking _for Moriarty to kick his ass, but the Irishman isn't in the room, so he cautiously makes his way towards the stairs. "Go on." Joss orders when he hesitates at the foot of the stairs. When he returns a few minutes later, his meager belongings shoved into a tattered suitcase, the wanderer takes his spare hand and tugs him towards the door. He isn't sure what's going on, and he's really too stunned to fight it. As soon as they're standing in front of the saloon, the sky wide and clear and tinged with greenish grey, his hand is released, and suddenly, Joss is in front of him. "Guess who just bought your freedom?"

He gapes at her, drops his suitcase, makes no move to pick it up or anything. "I- You- What? How- Why did you..." Words have never been his strong suit, but they've completely deserted him this time around. He's _free_? Free to come and go as he pleases, inside, outside, town to town? For a moment, he's thrilled, his heart is racing; Freedom is what he's been hoping for, dreaming about, for the past fifteen years, and now he has it. Freedom is sweet and overwhelming and a multitude of other things, but then he realizes... He has no home, and most people aren't quick to take in ghouls - and no way is he going to do make it to Underworld on his own. It's been years since he's taken part in any sort of combat, and even then, he wasn't exactly what one would call 'proficient' with anything other than a cheap nine millimeter pistol. Panic pools in his stomach, overtakes the happiness and squashes it down, crushes it and distorts it. "I don't have-"

"I know." When he shoots her a puzzled look, he finds her holding his suitcase and smiling at him, and despite how absolutely exhausted she seems, Gob thinks she is beautiful and he offers a tentative smile of his own. "Figured you could stay with me a while. 'til I figure out where I'm goin' from here." Part of him feels like he's taking advantage - this wonderful, kind, beautiful girl just spent who knows how much and is now offering him a place to stay... But she seems adamant, dragging him along by the hand when he hesitates.

Maybe life was going to get a little better.

* * *

><p>If there's anyone she'd trust in her home, it's Gob. He'd been hesitant, when she'd offered him a place to stay, but she'd sent a courier and had Moira bring over an extra bed while she was gone, set up downstairs. He didn't need to know that part; She'd just brush it off and make it seem like there'd always been two beds. "Home, sweet home." The next few minutes were spent puttering about, pointing out where things were kept; The tour ended with her motioning to the lockers in the corner. "You can go through those, if you'd like. Find yourself some clothes, since... I don't think you have much." She felt awful, pointing that out - but a single suitcase, and the fact that she was fairly certain he'd been wearing the same clothes just about every single time she'd gone into the saloon... Well, if he had more clothing, it was obviously just duplicates of the same damn outfit.<p>

"How much did you have to pay Moriarty?"

Despite herself, she grins at the question. "Twenty-five thousand." It had been a pain in the ass to make at first, but after she'd stumbled upon the national guard depot, she'd managed to scavenge enough to pay Moriarty and have something like fifteen thousand caps left over; More than enough to handle whatever traveling needed to be done in the near future, along with food and anything else they needed for the time being. Besides, twenty-five thousand caps wasn't a lot, in the grand scheme of things. She'd be able to earn that and more over the course of her life, and she was considered that, even if she couldn't, it wouldn't matter; It was for someone she _loved_. Maybe that was cheesy or weird or stupid, to throw away that much money on one person, but didn't give a damn. "Don't you _dare _try and pay me back. You don't owe me _anything_, Gob. You didn't ask me to do this; I did it because I _wanted _to. I'm pretty sure we've been through the fact that you're my best friend." When he opens his mouth to argue, she rolls her eyes, stifles a yawn and motions towards the bed. "You'll sleep there. I'm tired, I'm not going to argue about you paying me back. Just relax, alright, Gob?" _  
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	6. Announcement

_AN_: **Hate to give you guys false hope (once again, might I add), but I've sort of lost my inspiration for both this and _Thankless Job_. I just don't know where I want to go with the stories any more, and I'd hate to churn out awful chapters now. If you've got advice (or ideas), please, spare some time to help me out.  
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